


I'm not god

by mangotangerine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Romance, Sex, Smut, but it's good, it's not much of a surprise, surprise ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangotangerine/pseuds/mangotangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex with Combeferre is not just a meeting of bodies, a primal thing, it is a spiritual experience and each time he gets more and more lost within Combeferre's eyes and heart and each time, each time it's better than the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not god

A gasp, hands scrambling to find purchase in the sheets on the bed. _The thread count must be really high… they are so soft…_ he shakes his head, so overwhelmed with sensation that he’s thinking about sheets. A twist of very skilled hands, a wicked tongue, and Courfeyrac is arching off the bed.

“Oh god!” he cries out, much louder than he had intended, and the mouth leaves his cock and Courfeyrac growls, tugging on the sheets in irritation.

“My name isn’t God,” is purred into his ear, a heavy body pressing down onto his, all skin. “But I’m flattered.” Combeferre laughs breathlessly, kissing that spot behind Courfeyrac’s ear that makes him melt. Courfeyrac wriggles underneath Combeferre.

“It’s really not fair for you to stop,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against Combeferre’s shoulder, sliding one hand from the sheets to Combeferre’s back as the man above him rocks his hips down to meet Courfeyrac’s. It’s just a gentle press of bodies, it really shouldn’t be so _obscene_.

“Not stopping,” Combeferre gasps, grinding down against Courfeyrac. Whatever Courfeyrac was going to say next is lost to a cry of delight. “Just switching gears,” his voice has gotten deeper, he slips back into that Louisiana, New Orleans accent that he tries to hide, and that just makes Courfeyrac even more aroused, if it were possible.

“I love your fucking voice,” Courfeyrac growls into Combeferre’s neck, biting it and spreading his legs, bending his knees, grabbing Combeferre’s hips roughly and rocking up to meet the sensual grind of the other’s hips.

“What about my regular voice?” Only Combeferre can make jokes and feign sounding put out while in the middle of _sex_.

“Fuck you,” Courfeyrac groans.

“I plan on it.”

Courfeyrac can hear the grin in Combeferre’s voice and it makes him smile and laugh a bit. Sex has always been a primal coming together for Courfeyrac before, none of this gentle affection and sass and wit and jokes and _fun_ mixed with so much sensation. He didn’t know he needed _this_ in his life so much until Combeferre.

“Then fucking do it!” Courfeyrac is impatient now, Combeferre’s lazy grind against him is _great_ , but not nearly enough.

“Hm, okay, you’ve convinced me,” Combeferre whispers, and when did his lips get so close to his ear, and damn, Courfeyrac didn’t know he had a thing for having people moan jokes into his ear, but he _definitely_ does.

Combeferre lifts up off of Courfeyrac, giving him that special smile that Combeferre saves for _him_ , and _only_ him and it makes Courfeyrac close his eyes, overwhelmed with a different emotion.

“God, I love you,” he says quietly.

“You really shouldn’t talk about someone else while we’re in bed together.” Courfeyrac can hear the laughter in his voice and _fuck you,_ Combeferre, you know _exactly_ what I mean.

He sighs, opening his eyes to look up at Combeferre as the man reaches into the bedside drawer to pull out a condom and lubricant. “ _Combeferre_ ,” he amends. “I love you.”

And it’s said with such gentleness that Combeferre has to pause, looking down at Courfeyrac, and damn, how did he get so lucky? He sets the condom and lube aside, leaning down to pepper Courfeyrac’s face with kisses. “I love you. So fucking much,” Combeferre says, voice choked with emotion.

“Good. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, fuck me,” Courfeyrac says with a grin, winking at him coquettishly. Combeferre laughs again, pushing Courfeyrac’s legs apart, sliding a pillow under his lower back. He slicks his fingers with the lubricant, leans over Courfeyrac and kisses him as he slides a finger into him. The kiss doesn’t start out dirty. It’s a lazy meeting of lips, a slow dance of tongues, but the way Combeferre twists his hand and slips another finger in and that thing he does with his fingers _inside_ of him makes Courfeyrac gasp, grind down against his hand, and open his mouth a bit wider.

His hand goes to Combeferre’s head, tangling in his hair, and Combeferre just groans into his mouth. Tongues press more insistently, mouths become more frantic, and soon it’s not enough, two fingers become three and then four and then Combeferre is biting Courfeyrac’s neck roughly, leaving marks but Courfeyrac doesn’t mind, he _loves_ carrying Combeferre’s mark with him, the more visible the better.

Combeferre slides the condom on, hands shaking from want, and when he looks up at Courfeyrac, poised to enter, eyes half-lidded, Courfeyrac can’t stand the intensity anymore and closes his eyes, pressing his head back into the pillow and begging Combeferre.

“ _Please_ , Combeferre. I’ve never needed you inside me more than this mo—oh _god_ ,” he keens, gripping Combeferre’s arm as he presses into him. Combeferre has one hand on Courfeyrac’s hip, the other arm holding himself up, and he wants to just thrust in deeply and _go_ but it’ll hurt, so his arm trembles with need and restraint and Courfeyrac wraps his legs around Combeferre.

“My,” Combeferre presses in deeper, leaning down to give Courfeyrac another filthy kiss, shorter than before. “ _Name_ ,” he growls, bottoming out, sweat running down his arm, pressing his forehead against Courfeyrac’s and looking into his eyes. “Isn’t _God_ ,” he gives Courfeyrac that _devilish_ smirk that he loves so much, and Courfeyrac shakes his head and rocks his hips sharply, pressing Combeferre even deeper.

“ _Combeferre_ ,” Courfeyrac purrs, and Combeferre can’t take it anymore, and slides halfway out and snaps his hips, thrusting back into his boyfriend. Courfeyrac lets out a grunt of surprise and want.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak anymore,” Combeferre groans.

And he does.

Courfeyrac never thinks sex could get any better than it’s been before, but Combeferre proves him wrong every time. The sex is desperate, dirty, peppered with moans and gasps and cut-off whispers of each other’s names.

Sweat slides down Combeferre’s back, drips down onto Courfeyrac’s face and Courfeyrac doesn’t even care. The sweat, the sticky slide of skin against skin, is the best part. The way Combeferre stares into his eyes, doesn’t look away, the way his mouth opens and then he grits his teeth and bites his lip and then moans and the moment when Courfeyrac gets his hand on himself, the other scratching down Combeferre’s back, the moment when Courfeyrac is whispering dirty things into the air about how _good_ it feels to have Combeferre inside of him, how he thinks about it all the time, how Courfeyrac _lives_ for these moments, how _loved_ he feels and intense it is and how wonderful and how when he’s with Combeferre, in bed like this, connected like this, it makes the stars pale in comparison. It makes life worth living, and worth fighting for, the moment when it all hits Combeferre and he is so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that he closes his eyes because he can’t handle it anymore…

Well, in truth, Courfeyrac lives for _those_ moments. Nobody can affect Combeferre like he can, nobody knows Combeferre’s heart and mind as deeply as he does, and it makes the sex a million times better than just a tangling of limbs and press of bodies.

Combeferre’s speed picks up, but his thrusts become erratic, and he can’t hold the rhythm. “Courfeyrac,” he whimpers, gritting his teeth, eyes closed tight. He wraps his hand around his boyfriend’s, sliding up and down Courfeyrac’s cock, and Courfeyrac lets go. He lets Combeferre’s wicked surgeon hands do things to it that he didn’t know possible, and Courfeyrac keens in want and shudders with release, his other hand twitching and pressing into Combeferre’s shoulder and then sliding down it, and he climaxes with his eyes open, Combeferre watching, and there is nothing more intense than reaching physical orgasm that is so intense it becomes an _emotional_ orgasm. Combeferre lasts only a few more thrusts, whispering another “I love you,” into the air between their lips as he comes, hips rocking erratically, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from Courfeyrac’s.

He finishes, still deep in Courfeyrac, and the arm holding himself up shudders under his weight. He slides out, collapsing to the side of Courfeyrac, ties off the condom and deposits it in the trash bin by the bedside table, rolls onto his back stares up at the ceiling, too exhausted and overwhelmed to speak.

Courfeyrac listens to their ragged breaths, inhale and exhale in time with each other, and he turns to his side, sliding his palm up Combeferre’s torso to rest over his heart. The staccato rhythm of Combeferre's heartbeat matches his, and Courfeyrac feels closer for feeling it.

They don’t need to speak. A few moments pass and Combeferre rolls over to face Courfeyrac. That tender smile is on his face again. “Every time we do this, I fall even more in love with you.”

Courfeyrac smiles, sliding his body up against Combeferre’s, and neither of them care about the mess between them. “You only love me for my body,” Courfeyrac teases.

Combeferre hums, looking back up at the ceiling. “Technically, yes. Your brain is in your body, and the synapses and electrical impulses and hormones make up your personality and emotions, so _technically_ …”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Courfeyrac mumbles, and smiles so wide it hurts.

This kiss isn’t the filthy, desperate type of kiss they shared before. This one is a slow, tender press of lips and tongue and Courfeyrac’s heart feels so full it brings tears to his eyes and Combeferre never, ever makes fun of him for it, just kisses the tears away and tells him how much he loves this part of him.

*

Hours later of cuddling and lazy kisses and eventually sleep, they wake up to sunlight and warmth and each other.

Combeferre lets out a sigh of contentment, smiling. “I think I want to marry you,” he says quietly, casually, looking thoughtful. “It’s been a couple years, I think it’s enough time to know that I want to be with you forever.” He talks about it as if it’s just a fact, not like it’s something so emotional and precious and _special_.

Courfeyrac waits a beat or two. “That is the worst proposal ever,” he says in disbelief.

“Technically it wasn’t a proposal. I figured I’d leave that to you.” He yawns, snuggling closer.

“Scientists,” he groans, rolling his eyes.

Combeferre shrugs. “At least you know what my answer will be.”

Courfeyrac smiles. “It’s okay, I was planning something anyway.”

Combeferre slides his hand down Courfeyrac’s side. “Is it more sex?”

“ _God_ , you’re so needy,” Courfeyrac purrs, pressing against Combeferre. Round 2 after a not-proposal sounds good to him.

“I’m not god.”

The sex, as always, is even better than the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [tumblr](http://mangotangerine.tumblr.com)!


End file.
